


warm impermanence

by Skyepilot



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Awkward Flirting, Couch Sex, Cunnilingus, Desk Sex, F/M, First Time, Humor, Lola mentions, Name Changes, Porn With Feels, Resolved Sexual Tension, Sex, Sexual Content, Skye being nostalgic and horny, Skye's red dress, Undressing, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Vaginal Fingering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-14
Updated: 2015-09-14
Packaged: 2018-04-20 16:49:14
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,633
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4794935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skyepilot/pseuds/Skyepilot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Skye wears her red dress and one thing leads to another.  Basically porn with feels.</p><p>Title from the David Bowie song "Changes".</p>
            </blockquote>





	warm impermanence

“I haven’t done this in a while,” he said, a little out of breath.

His face looked like he was already apologizing.

“Me neither,” she answered, looking at his reddened lips, unbuttoning the top few buttons of his dress shirt. 

His tie was tossed over the back of the desk chair.

It was how she’d known she had his attention.  When he sat back in his chair and loosened the knot at his neck.

Even though it was late in the day and his sleeves were rolled up, he’d forgotten the tie, head buried in a file.

And all she’d done was put on that red dress. 

She’d found it when she was going through some of her things, rearranging.

She’d done a lot of rearranging lately.  New hair.  New-old name. That would work itself out.

Trying to clear out clutter, things that didn’t belong to this part of her life.

The dress that she’s stuffed away and forgotten about between finding out her SO was a serial killer working for Nazis, that her boss was half-alien, that she was an Inhuman named Daisy Johnson, and that Terrigenesis had gone global.

And Simmons was still missing.

He didn’t ask about the dress, of course, when she arrived in his office, but he sat back in his chair and loosened his tie.

“Taking her for one last spin before I retire her,” she said, joking.

“I’m sorry?” he asked, narrowing his eyes at her standing in the doorway.

“The dress,” she said, stepping further into the office.  “I wore it the day I joined SHIELD.”

“Are you feeling nostalgic?” he asked, his face wearing a much softer expression now.

“Maybe,” she said, coming closer, running a finger on the back of one of the chairs in front of his desk.  “I thought we could take a drive in Lola.”

“Lola,” he repeats, his eyes widening a little.

“Except,” she goes on. “It was a warm day, I remember. I think the backs of my thighs stuck to the seat.”

She looks down when she sees him take in her bare legs, as he gets up from behind the desk.

“I was trying to play it cool,” she continues, as he slides the keys out of the desk drawer, and slowly comes around to stand in front of her.  “You wouldn’t have known.”

“Where do you want to go?” he asks, very matter-of-factly.

“Where do you want to take me?” she answers. 

Not being smooth.  Not. At. All.

 She’s not even sure which of them did it first.

At the same time, to get rid of the silence pressing in on them?

“We should start over again,” she said to him. “Nerves, right?  And we don’t talk about this stuff. Like the fact that I’m Inhuman now.”

“Oh,” he nodded.  “That if we-“

“What?” she asked, as he hesitated.

“What if what _we_ are now, and then, _we_ ,” he went on, gesturing between them. “It triggers something?”

She tilted her head at him. “You think you’re going to make me _extra_ Inhuman?”

“No!” he replied, putting up his hands. “ _Why?_ Is that possible?”

“We just kissed, nothing really happened.”

“Look, I just thought about-“ he took in a breath. “Okay, I’ve been thinking about how everything that I’ve done since we first met, might have pushed you to this.”

Sitting back against the top of the desk to watch him, she shook her head.

“I know, bad timing,” he sighed, wearing a guilty expression.

“Does it matter if this is something we both choose?” she said, swinging her legs so that they brushed against his hips.

“You didn’t _choose_ to be Inhuman,” he said, pressing his hand against her knee, unable to resist the urge.

“You didn’t _choose_ to be brought back to life,” she said, scooting closer to him.

He looked like he was still wrestling with it.

“But this,” she said, sitting up against, him, her hand slipping over his undershirt. “I can feel you.”

“Feel me?” he asked, tilting his chin down to look at her fingers tracing over his scar through the thin fabric as he tries not to shiver.

“Vibrating,” she continued.  “Like the desk or the chair.  If I listen.”

“Hopefully I’m more interesting than the desk.”

“Much.”

She might remember it more romantically in hindsight?

Telling someone they’re sexier than office furniture isn’t that amazing.

His hands on her thighs, sliding up beneath her dress? That’s amazing.

The tension that has built up between them again, after all these changes.  Their bodies being made over.  

He’s right.

They didn’t get to choose.

He groans against her mouth as his fingers press against her underwear, feeling her hand against the back of his neck, so that she’s directing his kisses as he circles his thumb against the dampness.

When she jerks and tightens her legs around him he pulls back for a moment.

“I’m locking the door,” he says, walking away, making a little funny sidestep as she stands up from the desk and meets him halfway.

Guiding him back to the couch with a hand, she swings over onto his lap, watching his hands slide up her thighs to hold the dress up above her waist.

She moves over him slowly, starting to unbutton the long row at the front of her dress.

Then she closes her eyes feeling his mouth on her neck, planting small kisses and the occasional bite in a trail across her collarbone.

Slipping the dress off, hands free again, she manages to get him to slow down long to get out of both of his shirts, and for him to twist them both sideways so that she’s beneath him against the couch, and he’s sliding down, his lips pressing against her hipbone then his tongue brushing over it, as his fingers land on the edge of her underwear, then slowly pull them down as she raises her legs in agreement.

The image of Coulson with her underwear in his hand makes her want to kiss him so badly, but then he tosses them aside, and presses his face between her legs and whatever he was apologizing for earlier he should really stop being so humble.

She’s a little loud, it’s unintentional, but it’s been awhile.  And she’s not expecting the excited look on his face, she thought he’d probably tell her to keep it down or-

“Phil!”

It just slips out, while she’s getting so close, and she feels his fingers, inside of her, curling until she has to sit up to ride it the rest of the way out, clenching around him as he kisses her down from her orgasm.

A little light headed, but feeling her body buzzing and wanting his arms around her, she pulls him down on top of her, until he’s relaxed as one can be squished on a couch with his back against the cushions.

Phil.

She just needed it.

“I needed that,” she said, turning to him.

She feels like she might be glowing.

Watching him stare at his left hand resting on her hip, she sees him trail it over her body.  The hand can do lots of things, but it can’t feel.

Catching his eyes with hers she kisses him then sits up and takes off her bra, tosses it to the floor with the rest of their clothes.

Then she holds out her hands to him and gets him to stand, as she runs her fingers over his arms, the scar on his chest, to his belt buckle.

Undoing it, she lets him slide the pants off first, take off his shoes, then socks.

She palms him when he gets to the boxer briefs, slips her hand beneath the waistband and feels him hard against the softness of her.

He looks like he’s trying really, _really_ hard.

His eyes open when she pushes him back down against the couch again, and she sits over him, as he moves to kiss her, starting it off slow, as his right hand traces over her contours like he’s memorizing them.

She can feel him pressing against her, still so wet from her orgasm.

When she starts to ask him what he wants, he half-groans out, “Do we need anything?”

They’re both active field agents, they've both been without sex for a few years.

“We’re good,” she says, touching her fingers to his mouth, watching it widen as he presses up inside of her.

Leaning into him, she starts to move over him slowly, getting used to him filling her, she can feel her body start to shiver with where this is going.

He’s watching her face, and she starts to think about vibrations, or feel them, as he gets more active beneath her, letting him move her hips against his.

“I can feel you,” he whispers. “Are you doing something with your-“

“Not trying to.”

She pins his shoulders against the back of the couch and he moves under her, harder, making sure it’s what she wants, and it builds like that between them.   Like the few times they’ve trained together and had to stop, but couldn't say why.

This is why.

Her arms are clenched around him, she can feel him getting close and she moves with him, pressing her hips against his, until the angle is all crazy-good, and then she's saying his name again, he’s repeating her name, his name for her, until they’re both collapsed against each other.

She runs her fingers over his arms, feeling the muscles relax under her touch.

“First time with an Inhuman?” she teases, as he tips his head down to kiss her damp forehead, his hands still resting on her hips.

“Yes,” he says, breathless and glistening.

“Me too," she answers.

And his arms circle her.


End file.
